


But a Whimper

by FuckBenedict



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Apocalypse, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:33:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckBenedict/pseuds/FuckBenedict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Don't be mad at me for that beginning I'm already mad at myself</p>
    </blockquote>





	But a Whimper

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be mad at me for that beginning I'm already mad at myself

_“Sherlock!”_ John screamed, voice hoarse.

The detective fell to his knees, breath escaping his lungs with a muted cry.

“ _Sher-“_ John’s last yell, cut short, echoed through the street as a clawed hand was clasped around his mouth, dulled fangs sunken into his throat.

Even from behind the bars of hospital doors, Sherlock could see the desperate fright in the doctor’s eyes replaced with a dull emptiness. Sherlock clutched the bars soundlessly until his knuckles turned white, willing himself to stand.

He had never cried, though he had watched so many die, so many, so many, the thought circling his head now as he stared at the creature now hunched over John’s body. So many. None of them had made him cry. So many. But none of them had been John. So many, so many. None.

**x – x – x**

Sherlock sat bolt upright, curls matted with sweat. His eyes fell shut as he let out a shuddered breath, whispering self-reassurances under his breath.

He settled back down in his bed – no, not bed, he realized quickly, frowning. His groggy mind caught up to speed, processing, processing… not a bed, a stretcher of some sort. Placed on the floor, he proceeded to remember as he reached a hand out. Pushing himself up once more, he glanced at his surroundings; a cleared out room at St Bart’s, quite obviously, with not stretchers but hospital patient beds on the floor. Sherlock shook his head, then stilled for a moment as memory flooded back to him.

“John” he called quietly, looking about.

The figure in the bed next to his stirred, but a silhouette in the faint sunlight.

Sherlock reached toward it. “John?”

Sitting up, the figure rubbed its eyes, hair cascading down around its shoulders.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly whispered, shaking her head.

“Molly,” Sherlock said uncertainly, head still spinning. “John… ?” he asked without finishing the question.

“I’m sorry” Molly replied without answering it.

“I thought... it was a dream” he replied.

The woman shook her head again. “It’s been days, Sherlock. He’s gone. The creatures got him, remember?”

Slowly, Sherlock breathed in, the scene replaying in his mind despite his efforts to blind himself to it.

“I remember”

**x – x – x**

Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he sat pressed against the bars before Mary returned.

“No… “ the detective turned, grabbing her wrist, willing her not to see. Mary pulled her arm from his grasp, taking in the scene before her with heartbreaking detail.

 _“John”_ she whispered inaudibly, reaching for the gun at her waist.

“Mary, you can’t-“ Sherlock began, but his words fell on deaf ears. She had already pushed the door open, firing once, twice, thrice, at the creature before it turned toward her.

“Come on then” she snarled, firing again at the thing’s head. It merely grunted in response, raising its blood-covered snout.

“Mary, please,” Sherlock begged from behind her. “Come back inside, you don’t have t-“

“Yes, I do” she replied evenly. “You’re the deductive expert. You know I do. You know John was the only reason I was here”

The detective choked on his response, knowing her words were true. “He would want you to live”

“And I wanted him to,” she said with an air of finality, taking another step toward forward unwaveringly. Her next shot went through the creature’s eye, and its step faltered but did not stop as it advanced toward her.

 _“Die_ ” she hissed as it closed the gap between them.

For a split second the two simply stared at each other, and Sherlock watched the following unfold with sickening slowness.

The creature lunged at Mary, and she made no move to evade it, landing hard on her back. Crying out, she raised her gun to its head as it bared its teeth, saliva dripping from its mouth.

“Last shot” she whispered through clenched teeth, “make it count”

She pulled the trigger as the thing sunk its fangs into her neck, both accepting their deaths with the knowledge that the other would be taken with them.

Sherlock turned away, burying his face in his hands. So many. None.

**x – x – x**

“Sherlock… _Sherlock_ … ” Molly whispered as she shook him from his reverie. “It’s over”

The detective blinked slowly, reaching a hand to his face. He pulled his fingers away damp, simply staring at them a moment before registering his tears. Looking up at Molly, he took a breath, nodding “I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry. I-i know how you feel… I mean, not, er, to belittle… um… I-“ she stammered, then paused to regain her composure. “It’s okay”

“But it’s not, is it?” Sherlock murmured with bemused distance, eyes focused on nothing.

Molly gave a sad smile. “I guess it’s really not”

The two sat in silence for a long time, listening to the shallow breathing of the others in the room as they slept. There came the faint sound of a bell toll in the distance and Molly sighed.

“I guess we still need to get food,” she said uncertainly, “since the last… um… since that didn’t go over too well”

Sherlock smiled tightly. “That’s an understatement”

The woman gave a breathy laugh, dry and humourless.

“In any case, yes, we do need to get food,” Sherlock tentatively agreed after a moment.

Since the city was evacuated before things got too hectic, the group knew most anywhere that sold imperishable food would still be well stocked; the trouble was, of course, in getting to it without drawing attention. They had outlined plans for getting to nearby shops prior to their last attempt; plans which obviously were not extremely successful, judging by the fact that they accomplished nothing but a severe loss of group members. Not only John and Mary but Donovan, Lestrade, and one of the hospital worked that had stayed were killed during the outing, and Sherlock felt the guilt like a physical presence – it had, after all, been mostly his plan to make the trip in the first place. Though of course, it was that or starve, so truly there wasn’t another option for him; a fact that Molly constantly reminded him of these days. Despite her best efforts, the detective still took responsibility for the occurrence and had flat out refused to make further plans for retrieving food until he realized the extent of their need.

“Today?” Molly asked gently, not wanting to pressure him.

Sherlock hesitated before nodding. “Yes. It would be best. Mrs. Hudson won’t be able to last much longer without eating; we need to go as soon as possible”

He glanced toward the window, watching the dust dance in the growing sunlight streaming through it. “Since the creatures obviously have no troubles seeing at night, we should go this afternoon. Might as well lessen their advantage; the last thing we need is to not be able to see what’s hunting us”

Molly merely nodded in response, pulling her blanket up to her chest with a slight shiver despite the summer morning’s warmth. There was a moment’s pause before she spoke.

“Sherlock, about John, I… I’m sorry”

The detective looked at her without moving.

“I know”

The two lapsed into silence that remained unbroken until the rest awoke. There was nothing more to be said.


End file.
